Truth or Dare
by Tea55
Summary: Four times Dean and Castiel played Truth or Dare, and one time they didn't. Dean/Castiel, set after SPN 4x14.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, Kripke's.

**Summary: ** Four times Dean and Castiel played Truth or Dare, and one time they didn't.

**Rating:** T

**TRUTH OR DARE**

When it happens for the first time, it's because Dean is drunk. Well, mostly drunk. The dangerous kind of drunk. Drunk enough not to give a damn about the possible consequences of his words, but not drunk enough not to know what he's doing.

It's been a week since _The Incident_, and he and Sam are still pretending that everything is all sunshine and rainbows. That the words they spat to each other's faces under the Siren's spell aren't a third presence in the room whenever they're alone.

Dean used to be good at this. Good at putting things to rest. Good at burying them under loyalty and love. Under the fucking need that is imprinted on every damn blood cell in his body that bears the Winchester name. Fears, desires, insecurities… everything but that damn command that has been seared into his mind since he was four.

_"Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don't look back."_

And Dean did. He took Sam – his Sammy – and he hasn't looked back since. But that was twenty-six years ago, and even though Dean is still running, his baby brother doesn't want, or even need, his help and protection anymore.

Now, Dean wants to stop. He's tired. So fucking tired of carrying that responsibility on his shoulders when he's falling apart inside. Tired of guilt and shame. Tired of_ trying _when he always ends up fucking things up.

Hell has broken him in more ways than one, and there's nothing he can do about it. It seems that you can take someone out of Hell, but you can't take Hell out of someone. And forty years in Hell means a lot of baggage. Most of it being blood and innards.

Dean can't forget it, nor forgive himself. He can't speak of it to Sam, that much is clear since their fight, and he doesn't have anyone else. While the hole inside him only gets bigger and darker. A giant black hole that is swallowing everything even remotely good and clean inside him.

So he drinks. He goes out every night, every time to a different bar, and gets drunk. It almost feels like that creature's saliva is still coursing through his bloodstream, making him itch with barely restrained need to either kill or fuck. Or both. And Dean doesn't fight it. It's an empty thrill, but it dulls the edge of the pain he feels every time he remembers Sam's words or the expression on his face. Every time he remembers the next day, and the lies that had been said.

Downing another shot of whiskey, Dean meets a pair of blue eyes watching him from the other side of the bar, and he grins around the rim of his glass.

_Guess we have a winner for tonight._

Sliding off the bar stool, Dean saunters slowly towards the blonde who is looking at him with a small, sly grin on her face, but he makes it only half of the way when his eyes suddenly catch a glimpse of another pair of eyes watching him, and he freezes in mid step.

Dean doesn't know why, if it's because of the alcohol in his bloodstream, that ghost presence of the Siren's spell, or just 'cause he's finally gone off the deep end, but he changes direction, ignoring how the look on the blonde girl's face turns to confusion, focusing entirely on the impassive face of a man – an angel, but Dean doesn't give a damn – who stares unblinkingly at him from the shadows of the bar.

It's strange, but not unexpected in light of everything that has happened since Anna's little light-show, that Dean had forgotten all about the new addition to his list of supernatural beings. But it seems that the angels haven't forgotten about him.

Dean doesn't think as he slowly walks towards where Castiel is standing, and there is one moment when his brain tries to warn him, words like 'danger' and 'going back to hell' flash through his alcohol-clouded mind, but Dean ignores them, feeling the rush of pure adrenaline coursing through him.

This whole situation seems surreal, an angel standing in a darkened corner of a sleazy bar, the pounding beat of the music, but most of all, that electric feel of Castiel's eyes on his skin that is almost like a caress. Something snaps inside Dean.

Something dark and ugly rises in the pit of his stomach, and Dean recognizes it as what it is – _desire_. Desire to either break or sully the angel, to see him bloody and beaten, or undone and ravished. And he wants to be the cause of it.

Dean wants it with an intensity that makes his hands itch, yearning to touch or bruise. He wants it so fucking much he can almost taste it.

It should worry him, it should make him turn around and run as far away as he can from Castiel, but this sense of danger and forbidden only fuels his need, so he continues his slow progress until he's standing a mere step away from the angel who stays still, not moving an inch, just staring at Dean with his usual look of calm detachment.

Castiel looks the same as ever, and the sight of him _shouldn't _make the breath hitch in Dean's throat, nor should it make him want to bite down on Castiel's lower lip just to see how human blood tastes when it comes from a body that houses an angel, and it sure as hell shouldn't make Dean reach out and touch Castiel's face, slowly dragging his fingers lower until they settle on the angel's lips.

"Long time no see," Dean whispers, still keeping his fingers on Castiel's lips, daring the angel with his eyes to do something. To push him or smite him, or just fucking open his lips under his fingers. "I thought you forgot all about me."

Castiel's face stays impassive, he doesn't say a word, and Dean almost chokes on the sheer want that surges through him. The fact that the angel could crush him without any effort only adding more fuel to his already throbbing need.

Dean drags his fingers down from Castiel's lips, every soft touch of his fingers only confirming the facts of 'human', 'warm', and 'male' that swirl somewhere on the outer edges of his mind, along with the words 'wrong' and 'blasphemy', but he couldn't care less.

"Isn't this place out of your league?" Dean asks, grinning victoriously when his fingers touch the pulse point on Castiel's neck. Not so heartless now, if the irregular beat under Dean's fingers is any indication. "Aren't you more of a church going type?"

Castiel tilts his head, his eyes still holding Dean's, and there is something fucking hypnotic about those blue eyes. Dean doesn't even notice the angel's hand moving until he feels fingers closing around his wrist.

"If you had chosen a church as your destination, then that is where I would be now," Castiel says calmly, and Dean can feel every word that comes out of the angel's mouth as a warm breath on his face. "But I suppose feeling self-pity is easier to accomplish in a place like this."

Dean frowns, Castiel's choice of words breaking through the haze of lust, anger, and alcohol around his mind. "Trust me, self-pity is the last thing I feel now," Dean says, lifting his chin challengingly, while at the same time gluing his body to that of the angel, completely ignoring various important facts that include public place and an angel in a male body. "What about you, Cas? Have you taken this body for a test drive yet?"

Castiel blinks, but the expression on his face stays the same. "Dean, you are wasting your time," he says, but Dean feels the grip on his wrist tightening. "I am not here to indulge your whims."

And now Dean really wants to see Castiel's calm control shatter. Wants to make him do something out of control. He'd prefer to make the angel beg, but he'll take anything now, and a small voice inside his mind that Dean ignores, screams warnings at him when he starts leaning towards Castiel's face, but then the world suddenly comes alive around him – shifting and changing – and before Dean has a chance to blink or to finish what he's started, he and Castiel aren't standing inside the bar, but a small, darkened alley behind it.

It takes Dean a moment to get his body under control, 'cause this teleportation thing only looks cool, but then he notices how Castiel has him pressed from neck to toe against the brick wall, and he grins. "A back alley, Cas?" Dean drawls. "It figures I'd get a kinky angel."

Castiel sighs and releases Dean's wrist. "Like I already said, Dean," Castiel says softly, but the look in his eyes is anything but soft. "I am not here to play games with you."

With another deep sigh, Castiel takes a step back, and Dean actually considers reaching out and pulling the angel back, viscerally aware how warm the angel is now that he can't feel that warmth anymore. How cold and alone he feels without it.

"Yeah, like you'd be any fun," Dean snorts, pushing himself off the wall, forcibly crushing the disappointment that raises its unwanted head inside his chest. His mind is still hazy from everything, but now, outside, in the cold night air, Dean's got some of his sanity back, and it is insisting that propositioning an angel is a very bad, going-to-hell kind of thing. "I'd bet you wouldn't even once pick dare."

Castiel blinks, a small frown marring his features. "Dare?"

This is fucking surreal, even in his life, but there's nothing normal or constant anymore in it, nothing that he can lean on. Nothing that he can really call his own. So why shouldn't he explain to an angel a silly game invented for parties as an excuse for make-out sessions?

"It's a game, Cas. It's called Truth or Dare," Dean says, absently noting how he just can't force himself to use the angel's full name. He also notices that Castiel isn't pressing the issue of his newly acquired nickname. There's got to be something there, but he's too tired, too drunk, and still too horny to think about it. "If you play it, you get to choose. You either answer truthfully to any question another person asks you, or you pick dare. Then you gotta do anything that person orders you to do."

Castiel looks at him silently, and just when Dean starts to feel uncomfortable under the angel's piercing stare, a small smile stretches his lips. "And I suppose you would never choose the truth," Castiel says softly, and Dean unconsciously clenches his hands into fists. He'd forgotten how damn smug these feathery sons of bitches can be, "but I will play your game, if that is what you want."

Dean blinks, dumbfounded, and chooses to ignore his first instinct that literally screams that Castiel has to have some ulterior motive for doing this. He'd said it himself, he's not into games. Instead, he decides to finish what he's started inside, and even though he'd prefer what he originally had in mind, he'll take what he can get. Hell, that's practically his life's motto.

"So, you do wanna play with me," Dean says, a wide, sharp grin stretching his lips. "Truth or dare, Cas?"

"Truth." Castiel says – predictably – and Dean inwardly rolls his eyes.

"What would you do if I kissed you?" Dean asks, taking a step closer to the angel, his previous adrenaline-high returning with a vengeance. "Back there… before you pulled your little Star Trek routine."

"Nothing," Castiel says without a pause, without even batting a fucking eyelash, and Dean can't decide whether to be angry, relieved, or offended. Or even disappointed, as the case might be.

"What kind of a lame answer is that?" Dean asks, his jaw tightening. "You really suck at this game."

Castiel tilts his head, his lips curved into that ghost of a smile that makes him seem human and alien at the same time. "It is the truth, Dean. Nothing more and nothing less."

"So, you're telling me that you'd allow me to grope you in front of all those people, and you'd do nothing about it?" Dean asks in a low voice, saying goodbye to his last shred of sanity as he closes the distance to the angel, molding their bodies together. "You wouldn't smite me, or toss me back into the pit," twining his fingers into the lapels of the angel's trenchcoat, Dean swallows a victorious grin when Castiel shivers – not so unaffected, are you, you son of a bitch, "or, God forbid, even enjoy yourself?"

Castiel's eyes narrow, and the smile slips from his lips. "This body may be human, but I am not," he says firmly, closing his fingers around Dean's wrists and pushing him away. "I am not here to enjoy myself, but to make sure this world does not become an outpost of Hell. Of all people, you should appreciate that the most."

Dean grimaces, mentions of Hell doing wonders in reducing his raging hard-on, and actually allowing his mind to ask just what the fuck is he trying to accomplish. This… whatever the fuck it is, is beyond dangerous, it's like standing on the edge of a knife over a fucking abyss, and Dean knows this, he's not that stupid, he just can't seem to make himself care. Or decide whether he wants Castiel to push him down or pull him to safety.

"Is it my turn now?"

Dean blinks at Castiel's words. "What turn?"

"To ask my question," Castiel says calmly, but the steely look in his eyes makes shivers trail down Dean's spine, and Dean suddenly doesn't like this game anymore. It doesn't look like he's in control of it anymore. _If _he ever were. But he'll be damned if he backs out of it now.

"Knock yourself out," Dean says, grinning widely, but it's a fake smile and a fake confidence. Fake like everything else in his life lately.

"Truth or dare, Dean?"

"Truth," Dean says firmly, fixing the angel with a hard stare.

Castiel's face stays impassive, nothing on it indicating that Dean's choice caught him by surprise, and it seriously pisses Dean off. "Does it really help?" Castiel asks softly, and Dean swallows, feeling bile rising in his throat. "Drinking and meaningless sex… do they make you feel any better?"

Dean suddenly feels cold, all the remaining traces of the alcohol and lust dissolving into nothingness as an answer to Castiel's question.

"Fuck you, you sanctimonious son of a bitch," Dean whispers hoarsely. "What would you know about pain? What would you know about wanting to forget?"

"That is not an answer to my question, Dean," Castiel says coldly, his face unreadable. "Does that mean you are backing out of the game?"

"Fine," Dean forces through clenched teeth. "I pick dare."

Castiel sighs, his face softening, and when he reaches out with his hand, Dean almost flinches, but all Castiel does is brush a stray hair from his face, and Dean's chest clenches painfully at that soft, tender gesture. "Go get some sleep, Dean." Castiel whispers gently, and before Dean has a chance to blink, the angel disappears into thin air.

"What kind of a stupid, lame-ass dare is that?" Dean yells at the night sky when he regains the power of speech, his hands clenched into fists by his sides, his whole body shaking from impotent rage, but he obeys, and when he falls asleep that night, he can still feel the soft brush of Castiel's fingers on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time it happens, it's not Dean's fault at all. Well, mostly not his fault.

Drawing his eyes from the three dead bodies scattered haphazardly on the ground, Dean grimaces. If the fucking winged bastard expects gratitude, he's going to be disappointed. But somewhere down – deep, _deep _down – Dean knows that the angel had saved his life. Again. But it doesn't make him feel anything but awkward as hell, and he hates feeling like that, and damn that son of a bitch, but he always does that to him. Makes him feel self-conscious and painfully aware of how much raw power is contained in the human body that houses Castiel.

Dean isn't used to feeling like that. Hell, he's spent years perfecting his game-face, and all this bastard has to do is tilt his damn head, and just stare at him – like he's doing right the fuck now – and Dean feels open and exposed, feels _vulnerable_, like all that makes him the person he is, is there for the angel to see. And judge.

And, of course, their last meeting and Dean's behavior – whatever temporary insanity that was – only makes this fucked-up power dynamic between them more complicated, adding another thing to Castiel's arsenal of weapons he can use against him.

Yeah, like throwing his ass back into Hell isn't enough of a threat.

"Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed, Dean?" Castiel asks in a low voice, and it takes Dean a moment to realize that the angel is pissed off. Like, _seriously_ angry at him.

He just can't figure out why. Hell, Castiel wasn't this pissed off when he'd denied the existence of his boss, or when he refused to stand back and watch an innocent being punished. Or even when Dean all but asked the angel to fuck him.

"Don't get your wings in a knot, Cas," Dean says, grinning, but his gut screams danger when Castiel narrows his eyes in response. "I'm a grown boy, I can look after myself."

Before Dean has a chance to blink, Castiel is standing beside him, gripping him by his upper arms. _Hard._ "You are acting like a child, Dean," Castiel hisses, and Dean kind of forgets how to breathe, 'cause Castiel's eyes are literally blazing now, and Dean wonders if he is somehow looking through the eyes of this unknown man and into the eyes of the angel inside. And it does things to his body. Makes him want to do things. Bad, dangerous things that he shouldn't want to do to a freaking angel of the Lord. "A spoiled and willful child."

With that, Castiel releases his hold on Dean, and it takes Dean far more than he would like to get his body's responses under control. "What the fuck is your problem?" Dean snaps, taking a step back from the still pissed off angel, rubbing his sore arm. What's it with Castiel and leaving his fucking handprints all over Dean's body? "I don't care what's going on in that feathery brain of yours, but you don't own me, no matter that handprint you left. And I sure as hell don't have to explain myself to you."

Castiel takes a deep breath, his eyes still narrowed. "I have not battled Hell and its trials for you to throw it all away in the fit of self-pity," Castiel whispers, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Dean's. "You could have died tonight if I had not come."

"I'm not a fucking amateur," Dean growls, forgetting all about the angel's current mood. "I've been doing this my whole damn life, and I've been doing just fine so far. Now, why don't you fly away somewhere, and leave me the fuck alone to clear this mess you've made?"

"Is that a dare, Dean?" Castiel asks evenly, his blue eyes glinting dangerously, and damn the bastard to hell, but Dean could never resist a dare. Even when he knew it could only end up badly. _Especially_ since it's this meddling, flying freak daring him.

"So, you still wanna play that game, Cas?" Dean drawls, stepping away from the bodies lying on the ground. "I'm game, but I get to ask first."

"Very well," Castiel says without a second thought, and Dean feels like he's been had.

"Do I even need to ask?"

A ghost of a smile stretches Castiel's lips for one moment. "Truth," is all he says, and Dean feels disappointed. The angel is really lousy at this game. With all those great possibilities for a dare – he's got _wings_, for fuck's sakes – of course he has to choose the truth. But there is one question he's been itching to ask, so maybe there's something to be gained from Castiel being a boring prude.

"What does your boss want from me?" Dean asks evenly, and he's really proud at how firm his voice sounds. Because as far as questions rate, this one is probably somewhere up there with 'Are he and Sam ever going to be the brothers they were?', 'cause, right now, Dean has his money on no way in hell. "Hell isn't exactly the least populated place, there were plenty of souls there, so why me? Why did I get the angelic 747 to haul my ass out of there?"

A strange expression passes across Castiel's face, and Dean is usually good at reading people, but Castiel isn't exactly people, and it's one of the main reasons why Dean hates dealing with the angel. It's difficult to bullshit your way out of a tight spot with so little working material at your disposal.

"Well, Cas?" Dean asks impatiently when Castiel stays silent. "Truth or dare? I'm not planning on spending the whole night waiting for you to make up your mind. Remember it was you…"

"I do not know."

Dean blinks. "Come again?"

Castiel sighs, and the look on his face is something Dean can recognize, but he as sure as hell doesn't like it. There's gotta be something seriously fucked-up waiting for him in the future if Castiel's look of compassion and worry is anything to go by. "I honestly do not know, Dean," the angel says, sounding weary, and Dean feels freaked out and pissed off at the same time. "My orders are clear, but they do not include precise details of what is expected of you in the future."

Dean grimaces, feeling like an idiot. "Well, that's just… great," he forces through clenched teeth. He's not sure what pisses him off more – the fact that he still has no fucking clue what the angels want from him, or that he's apparently wasted his turn. "And just so you know, I demand another question. 'Cause your answer, Cas? It ain't worth shit."

Castiel smiles, a smile of a cat that just eat a whole flock of canaries, and Dean's list of the most hated supernatural freaks gets another runner-up. "I have answered truthfully, Dean, you just do not like my answer, but that does not make it any less true," he says calmly, and Dean really, really wants to wipe that smile off his face. "I believe it is my turn now. Truth or dare, Dean?"

Dean narrows his eyes, glaring murderously at Castiel. "Truth," he says, even though he knows that this turn will end exactly the same as the first time they played this stupid game.

Castiel bows his head for a moment, and Dean considers how high are the chances of him leaving this place without the angel noticing it, but then Castiel lifts his head, his eyes zeroing in Dean's face immediately, and Dean sighs, accepting his fate. "Why have you gone on this hunt alone?"

Dean shakes his head, his jaw tightening, because the angel has hit the fucking bullseye. Of all the possible questions, this is the one Dean really doesn't want to answer. Doesn't want to say that he has no fucking clue where his brother is, or with whom, and he really doesn't want to admit – not even to himself, let alone to Castiel – that there might be a chance Sam isn't coming back in the foreseeable future.

So Dean does what he can. He grits out the word dare, squaring his shoulders, preparing for… well, he has no fucking clue what, but he's sure he's not going to like it.

Castiel sighs and reaches inside his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. "This is where you will find your brother," Castiel says evenly, and Dean suddenly has problems with making his lungs do their damn job. Because his breath is currently stuck somewhere in his throat, and his brain really needs oxygen to start functioning properly, not only repeating the same word over and over again.

_SamSamSamSam…_

Dean crosses the space that separates him from the angel in a daze, and snatches the piece of paper from the angel with a trembling hand.

"Go and speak with your brother, Dean," Castiel says softly, but his face looks grave, and Dean's stomach twists at the silent warning contained in that expression. "Stop him from following the path he has chosen."

Dean closes his eyes, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. "You know I'm not going to allow you to harm him, right?" Dean says evenly, opening his eyes.

Castiel smiles slightly, but it's a morose smile. "You may not believe it, but we are not thirsty for anyone's blood," Castiel whispers. "That includes your brother's."

Dean snorts. "Do you want me to quote you threatening me with Hell?" He asks bitterly. "Or your attack dog?"

"We are angels, not saints, Dean," Castiel says firmly, a note of annoyance underlining his words. "I do not claim that we make no mistakes, and, besides, you are not the easiest man to deal with. You are beyond stubborn. You are also reckless and disrespectful." Castiel pauses, fixing Dean with an intense stare. "But there is also strength and loyalty inside you that I admire, but you need to stop pitying yourself before you end up getting yourself killed. Or worse."

Dean clears his throat. "I didn't volunteer for this gig, Cas," Dean says, ignoring how his chest feels funny – the words warm and fuzzy seem painfully appropriate, and that's so not something he needs to feel in relation to Castiel – as the result of Castiel's words. "Your boss had picked me, and I'm not about to change just 'cause you don't like who I am."

Castiel blinks, and then he smiles, and Dean's breath hitches in his throat because, that smile, right there? It's a real, honest-to-God smile, and not one of those half-smiles he's seen on the angel's face. "Who said anything about you changing?" Castiel says. "And I do like you, Dean, even though you are; I believe… _pain in the ass i_s the correct expression."

When Castiel disappears, Dean stays rooted to the spot, his jaw hanging open, and his mind blank, but not blank enough not to recognize the feeling that swells in his chest as happiness.


	3. Chapter 3

The third time it happens, it just happens to be one of worst days in Dean's life, and considering some of _his_ days, that's saying something.

Dean feels like he's making a deal with the devil again. And in his case, it's not just an empty phrase, 'cause been there done that, got a few lifetimes worth of nightmares for his troubles.

But he also got his brother's life, and ironically – or predictably – enough, once again, it's Sam who is the reason for Dean trading off his soul.

But unlike the last time, it's not the middle of the night, and the face looking at him isn't female, but Dean still feels like he did back then. He feels like he's just lost himself again, and it's really only a small comfort that this time, it's Heaven that gets to call him his bitch.

"So, we have a deal," Dean says, his voice tense, hoping that the angel doesn't notice how fucking desperate he is. He has to use all his strength to keep his hands from shaking, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except keeping at least Heaven off Sam's ass. Hell, on the other hand… well, he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. "I'll do whatever you want me to. I'll jump through hoops, roll over and play dead when you want me to, but Sam stays safe."

"You have failed, then," Castiel says, his face unreadable. "Your brother did not listen."

Dean closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He's already treading dangerous ground here; he can't afford himself to piss off the angel needlessly. "Look, Cas, can we skip the usual twenty questions routine and go straight to the end," he says, his voice trembling with fear, worry, and agitation, and he feels like he's about to fall apart any moment now, but he can't bring himself to care. Not with Sam's life at stake. "I'm saying that no matter what your boss wants from me, I'll do it. No questions asked. Just… _please_…" his voice breaks, and he can feel actual tears gathering in his eyes, but making a fool out of himself in front of Castiel is a small price to pay for his brother's life.

Castiel stays silent, and Dean might as well be looking at a block of ice with how stone-cold the angel's face has become. It sure as hell doesn't do anything to put Dean's mind at ease, or to stop this feeling of dread that seems like a solid, leaden weight in the pit of his stomach, and Dean has to clench his jaw together to stop himself from screaming in frustration, feeling his self-control slipping with every passing second.

"Do you trust me, Dean?" Castiel asks finally, and Dean frowns, perplexed.

"What's that got to…"

"Yes or no?" Castiel cuts him off, his face grave. "And now I need you to tell me the truth. No games this time."

Dean swallows, suddenly feeling cold. "Can't you find out by yourself?" Dean asks, keeping his eyes fixed on Castiel's rapidly becoming one of the hardest things he has ever done, but no matter how insane that idea sounds even to him, he wants the bastard to use that damn x-ray vision on him, 'cause he has no fucking clue how he feels about Castiel. And why should it even matter? "Use your angel mojo on me?"

"You are asking me to intercede on your behalf before my superiors," Castiel says evenly, but there's an aura of power and danger surrounding the angel now, and Dean has to use all his willpower to stand still. "Why would you do such a thing if you do not trust me?"

"It's 'cause I have no one else," Dean snaps, and Castiel's eyes widen at that, looking genuinely shocked, and there is something else there, something that makes the angel looking _hurt_, but Dean can't appreciate it as much as he would like, because he's freaked out. He has no fucking clue where his words came from, but they are true, and that realization is frightening. "You're my only hope," Dean whispers, more to himself than Castiel, shaking his head at how fucking surreal all of this is. "I can't fight Heaven, Hell and Sam all at once. So, it doesn't really matter whether or not I trust you, Cas. I_ need_ you."

Straightening his shoulders, Dean keeps his eyes fixed on Castiel's face, and for some unknown, completely insane reason, he feels better. Now, saying those words, actually admitting how desperate he really is, Dean feels like some of the weight he's been carrying since Sam refused to listen to him, leaving Dean to stare at his brother's retreating back, has been lifted off his heart and shoulders.

"It matters to me, Dean," Castiel says softly, and Dean's heart skips a beat when he realizes that, somehow, he isn't all that powerless here. He has something that Castiel wants. But why the fuck would an angel want his trust? Why would _Castiel_ want it? The whole Sam issue aside, he'd already promised his unconditional obedience.

"Why?" Dean blurts out, frowning. He's not sure why, but as much as he wants the angel to answer him, he equally dreads the answer. "Why would an angel need my trust?"

Castiel opens his mouth, but then his shuts it, shrugging his shoulders, and Dean is too fucking freaked out to form a coherent thought, 'cause Castiel looks unsure and self-conscious all of a sudden, and that's just wrong. He's a freaking angel, for fuck's sake, a heartless son of a bitch by his own admission, and Dean seriously doesn't need another complication in his already messed-up world where he and Sam aren't speaking anymore, and there's an apocalypse on the horizon, and he really needs something stable and understandable now. So of course it's this moment the angel chooses to start acting so un-Castiel like.

"I wish for you to stop thinking of me as a threat, Dean," Castiel says softly, and Dean swallows, 'cause the angel is right, and no matter how much it pains him to admit it even to himself, Castiel still scares the hell out of him. "Or a necessity."

"But you_ are_ a threat, Cas," Dean says, his honesty surprising even him. "You can toss me back into Hell in the blink of an eye, and you could kill my brother just as easily. All you need is an order from upstairs, and me and Sam are as good as gone."

"Dean," Castiel starts, but Dean cuts him off.

"Listen, Cas," Dean says, suddenly feeling tired, and these… trust issues the angel is insisting on aren't something he's willing to deal with just yet, not with Sam's life hanging in the balance. "Right now, all I can think about… all that matters is Sam."

Castiel stays silent for a long time, just looking at him, and Dean can feel a hysterical laughter building in his throat. He can't get over how fucking familiar this is, and really, how many times can one man trade himself for another? How many times before there's nothing left to trade?

"Very well," Castiel says finally, his face unreadable, but there's a note of deadly determination in the angel's voice that makes Dean think that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that Castiel might be endangering himself by doing this, and that… that's huge, and scary as hell, and so not something Dean is willing to contemplate right now – or possibly ever – but, in the end, it doesn't really matter, all that matters is that Castiel said yes.

Dean smiles weakly, clearing his throat. "So, what do angels do to seal a deal?" he asks, and an image flashes through his mind – wide, blue eyes clouded with lust, hands tangled in dark hair, lips closed over lips…

The imagery is vivid, and it feels so fucking _real_, so it takes Dean a moment to realize that it's not actually happening, that Castiel is standing a couple of steps away from him, his features drawn into a puzzled expression, and Dean feels panic rising in his chest. 'Cause daydreaming about groping an angel while the angel in question is standing in front of him, has to be very high on the list of the most idiotic and dangerous things he's ever done. And this time, he can't blame it on the alcohol. This was all him.

Castiel sighs. "Dean, this is not the crossroads, and I am not a demon. But if you insist, I believe a handshake would suffice."

Dean stares one moment at Castiel's outstretched hand, feeling like an idiot, and most certainly not feeling disappointed. But then he decides that enough is enough. That this whole situation concerning Sam is messing with his mind, making him think and want things that are bad and wrong. And once Sam is well and by his side where he belongs, all this Castiel-related insanity will end, and he'll stop wondering how would it feel to run his fingers trough Castiel's hair, what sounds would the angel make if Dean got the chance to strip him off that ridiculous tax-accountant get up, and then proceeded to kiss and touch and_ lick_…

Shaking his head, Dean takes a deep breath. What the fuck is wrong with him? Since when did Castiel become an instant turn-on? Dean had flirted with danger before, he's not about to deny that danger and forbidden are a part of the thrill for him, but this is way beyond dangerous, this is an angel, for fuck's sake, and blasphemy aside, a seriously badass motherfucker.

Sighing deeply, Dean finally takes Castiel's offered hand. "And what now?" He asks, and Castiel just smiles, keeping his fingers wrapped around Dean's, and Dean only has enough time to think 'oh, fuck' before he feels himself being stretched and split apart, and everything around him shifts. When the world stops swirling, and Dean can start breathing again, they're standing in the middle of a church, their hands still intertwined.

"Church? How original," Dean snorts, shaking his head, still feeling queasy and weak from their trip, but he can already feel dread rising its ugly head in the pit of his stomach. "And why are we here?"

Castiel releases his hand, taking a step backward, and Dean feels a pang of regret at the loss of Castiel's touch. "This is where my brothers meet," Castiel says calmly, but Dean can feel underlying tension in the angel's voice, and it makes Dean's heart pick up a beat.

"You're saying that there are more angels here?" Dean says, shifting on his feet, his eyes nervously scanning the inside of the church. The thought of being in the same room with more than one angel isn't really Dean's idea of a good time.

"Not yet, but they will come shortly," Castiel says calmly, taking a seat on one of the pews. "We shall have to wait for their arrival."

Dean grimaces, taking another sweep of the empty church, and when he finds nothing unusual, he takes a seat next to the angel. "Now what?" Dean asks, inwardly rolling his eyes. He knows that he sounds childish, and, hell, he's starting to go on his own nerves, but he's nervous as hell. When he met Castiel today, he didn't really expect to meet the other angels personally.

"We wait," Castiel says, throwing a sidelong glance at Dean. "You keep on asking me that question, Dean, why is that? Are you afraid?"

Dean blinks, incredulous. "Hell yeah," he says, not even considering lying. "Oh, sorry about that, I mean… yes, I'm a little nervous," he adds quickly when he remembers where they are, his eyes reflexively flying upwards.

Castiel shakes his head, smiling lightly. "Your kind is truly strange sometimes, Dean," he says, sounding amused. "Your words are no more an offense here than they are in any other place. God is everywhere, not only in the places of worship."

"That's not helping, Cas," Dean says, frowning. He's not yet okay with the concept of God really existing, not to mention that whole being omniscient part. "I don't really need to be reminded that there's an all-powerful peeping tom somewhere out there."

"The Lord's presence is meant to be comforting, not menacing," Castiel says, growing serious, and there's a note of something – sadness, perhaps – in his voice that makes Dean uncomfortable.

"That's easy for you to say, you're an angel," Dean says, grimacing. "It's not like you have to worry about going to Hell for being a bad boy."

Castiel just looks at him for a long moment. "Hell was created by my former brethren," he whispers, and Dean feels his heart skip a beat at the tone of desolation in the angel's voice. "Temptation can take many forms, and there are many paths that lead to Hell. Sometimes," Castiel's voice falters, and Dean feels uncomfortable, but can't make himself avert his eyes from Castiel's, for the first time realizing how expressive they can be, for a heartless bastard, that is, "falling is no different than flying."

If you lead a life that is made up of things other people only have nightmares about, you tend to know when something life altering happens. So Dean knows something has changed between him and Castiel now, and even though this isn't the first time for Castiel to confide in him, the angel's voice… well, it freaks the hell out of Dean. The very notion of Castiel falling, of ending up in Hell, feels more than wrong. It actually hurts. And not only because Dean needs his help.

After Castiel's words, they stay silent for a long time, until Dean can't take it any longer, feeling the silence stifling and suffocating. He needs something to take his mind of Sam, and he also doesn't want to think about Castiel's last words.

"What's it like upstairs?" Dean asks, the words coming out of his mouth without him really planning to say them. But now, with them out there, Dean suddenly wants to know. It's not like he'll ever get the chance to find out by himself.

When Castiel stays silent, Dean grimaces. "Oh come on, Cas, you owe me an honest answer," he says, purposely keeping his voice light. "The last two times we played a game, you cheated. That wasn't very angel-like of you."

"I did not cheat," Castiel says, frowning, and Dean suppresses a victorious grin. He can't read the angel half as well as he'd like to, but he's learning. "Truth does not have to be complicated all the time, Dean. Especially for my kind."

"Then answering my question should be easy," Dean insists, releasing an exasperated breath when the angel says silent. "Oh, come on, Cas, it's not like I'm asking for the meaning of life here."

Castiel grimaces, hesitating, but then he sighs in defeat. "It is my home," he says simply. "Where I belong."

"Well… that was unhelpful," Dean says. "I know this mysterious, cryptic crap comes with the territory, but would it kill you to try answering a question in plain English for once?"

"I cannot answer it any other way, Dean. It is my home, and it means everything a home means for your kind. Belonging, peace and safety."

Dean closes his eyes for a moment. Belonging, peace, and safety. Not really words he understands all that well. Maybe because he never really had a home. "I was thinking something more along the lines of what you can see up there," Dean says, opening his eyes. "You know, white, fluffy clouds; blonde babes dressed in skimpy dresses… that kind of stuff."

The look Castiel throws in his direction is genuinely confused. "Why would you think that Heaven includes _that_?"

"Well, isn't Heaven supposed to be about being happy and getting what we want?" Dean asks, feeling stupider with every word that comes out of his mouth. His life was seriously messed-up a year ago, but now? It became fucking surreal. But here he is – in a church, discussing Heaven with a bonafide angel of the Lord.

"One day, Dean," Castiel says, smiling, "you will find out by yourself."

Dean stays speechless. And it's not that he doesn't want to say something, it's that he can't. 'Cause Heaven? Not really a destination he ever saw for himself. Especially after his recent visit to that other place.

"Religion never was my thing, but isn't Hell where sinners go?" Dean asks, his voice hoarse. He wants to be pissed off at the angel, but he's currently too busy hoping that Castiel told him the truth. No one wants to go to Hell, even when they don't really know what expects them down there. Dean now _knows_ what he wants to avoid.

"God loves all his children. He forgives and forgets, Dean," Castiel says softly. "Especially those who try to do the right thing."

"Yeah," Dean snorts. "And the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

Castiel frowns. "No, actually, it is paved with burning coals and iron spikes."

Dean blinks. "Huh?" He asks, oh so eloquently, not sure how to take Castiel's words. Can angels tell jokes? But the expression on Castiel's face is serious, even grave, and Dean somehow doubts that an angel comes equipped with the sense of humor.

"I said, the road to Hell is paved with…"

"It's okay, Cas, it doesn't matter," Dean interrupts him, trying to hold back a smile, but then he realizes something, and the smile dies on his lips. "Why don't I remember it?"

"Remember what?"

"You… coming to Hell… pulling me out," Dean whispers, his eyes fixed on Castiel's face. "I remember everything else, but not you. Why?"

Castiel sighs and bows his head, and Dean already knows he's not going to like the angel's answer. "It is not relevant," Castiel says blankly, but refusing to meet Dean's eyes. "You are out now, that is all that matters."

"No, it's not all that matters," Dean says firmly, anger sparking to life in his chest. "I remember how it feels to hold a still beating heart in my hand and how to cut out a lung from someone without them passing out, and that's not something I want to have in my head, but it's there. So why don't I remember the only thing from that damn place that I actually want to remember?"

"Dean, it was for the best," Castiel says, still refusing to meet Dean's eyes, and it only makes Dean angrier. "I also wanted to ease the burden of your memories from Hell, but I was not allowed to."

"You messed with my mind?" Dean grits out, forcing himself to stay calm, and not do what he wants to. He figures that punching an angel in the face in a church would not sit well with the big man upstairs. "And you want me to trust you? Fuck you, Cas. You had no right."

Dean is already half up when Castiel's hand shots out, grabbing him by his wrist and pulling him down. "You want more memories of that place, Dean?" Castiel says, his eyes glinting dangerously, and Dean feels scared now, but he can't move, he's trapped by both the angel's grip and the look in his eyes. "If that is what you desire, then that is what you will get."

Before Dean can blink or try to pull his hand out of the angel's steely grip, Castiel presses a palm of his hand to his forehead and everything around Dean goes dark, and he's not himself anymore, he's someone else.

_Red and black flames are surrounding him, alternately scorching and freezing, and it hurts, but he doesn't stop… he can't stop… a flash of dark and a glint of steel followed by an explosion of pain… but he can't stop… screams and pleas for mercy are grating on his mind, but he still can't stop… everything hurts now… he wants to stop, he wants to flee this place, but he won't stop… he feels cold now, his wings are heavy and bleeding, but he must not stop, a single thought echoing inside his mind, driving him forward, always forward… save Dean Winchester… save Dean…save Dean… save…_

Dean gasps, and just like that, he is himself again. He takes a panicked look of his surroundings, the memory of flames and screams still vivid and real, but he's not in Hell anymore, he's in a church and he's not alone.

Castiel sits calmly beside him, looking at him with unreadable eyes, and Dean suddenly feels sick. His body is shivering, and there is still that ghost presence of misery, fear, and an insistent need to go forward, but those aren't his memories and feelings. They belong to the angel sitting beside him.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean whispers, closing his eyes. He'd never really thought about what the angel went through to pull him out of Hell. Hell, he didn't even give it a second thought. But now, with the evidence of Castiel's descent into the pit still vivid before his mind's eye, Dean feels guilty and ashamed, and it doesn't even matter that Castiel was ordered to save his ass. Not after what he'd experienced just now. "I didn't know."

"Hell is Hell for everyone, Dean," Castiel says softly, and Dean doesn't want to open his eyes, but he does, meeting the look of compassion and understanding in the angel's blue eyes. "It can break even my kind, and we have seen Heaven. You are but a man, Dean. A man with no faith."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks, his voice barely a whisper, and it amazes him that he's been able to force even those words past the lump in his throat.

Slowly, almost as if Dean were a wild and scared animal, Castiel reaches out, trapping Dean's face between the palms of his hands. "You had no choice, Dean," Castiel says slowly, and Dean swallows, but his throat stays dry as sandpaper and his chest seems like it's three sizes too small for his lungs. "From the first moment, you were meant to break. Everyone does."

"I," Dean starts, but his voice breaks. And what's he supposed to say, anyway? Even he has no fucking clue whether he wants to beg the angel for forgiveness or punishment. But Castiel makes the decision for Dean by pulling his head towards his face and lowering his lips on Dean's forehead.

It's just a light touch of the angel's lips, and it's over in a second, but Dean feels like there is fire and light coursing through him now, warming his soul, making the shadows there disappear. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Dean knows what it means to be at peace.

Castiel keeps his hands on Dean's face, his eyes literally burning with intensity, and Dean becomes painfully aware how close they're sitting and how warm the angel is; how easy it would be to lean closer and close the small distance between their faces. And suddenly, Dean sees no reason not to listen the voice in his head that demands of him to say screw it all, and just do what he wants. What he needs.

Dean starts to lean closer, and Castiel widens his eyes at that, but he doesn't pull away, just parts his lips slightly, and Dean can almost taste the angel's lips on his when he feels it – the familiar shift in the air that announces the coming of angels, and just like that, the moment is broken, and Dean has no chance to even try to stop Castiel before he releases his hold on Dean's face, and pulls away, his face settling into his usual impassive expression.

Dean grimaces, his hands clenching into fists, but he has no time to feel disappointed or freaked out by what he'd almost done because Castiel stands up, and with one last glance at Dean's face, he goes to meet the angels.

They look ordinary, a man and a woman, both in their early forties, but even from where he is sitting, Dean can feel their presence.

The angels aren't even looking at him, their concentration is fixed on Castiel who is speaking now, and even though Dean would really like to know what is being said – hell, it's his fate that's being decided – he really doesn't want to go over there.

Dean stands up, trying but failing to keep himself from becoming terrified, because the air around him suddenly feels like it's full of static electricity, like a ghost presence of lightning. It is power in it's rawest form, and Dean becomes painfully aware how small and insignificant he really is, how easily the angels could end his existence. But then his eyes settle on Castiel, and his heart starts to beat normally again.

If Dean weren't currently in a church with a pair of badass angels, he'd probably laugh out loud. But he is, so he doesn't, he simply shakes his head in surrender and amazement, suddenly realizing something.

He does trust Castiel. To protect him and to help him. He doesn't know how or even why it had happened, but it's the truth. For better or worse, he trusts the angel.

So when Castiel turns his head in his direction and signals him to approach, Dean doesn't feel afraid anymore.

And just like that, the whole world changes, and Dean decides that having faith maybe isn't such a bad thing after all.


	4. Chapter 4

The fourth time… well, there's blood, and the smell of death in the air, and Dean should be used to it by now, only, he really isn't. It makes him feel helpless and scared out of his mind. And it still fucking _hurts_.

Dying, as it is, is easy. It's painful as hell and then you're gone, but watching someone dear to you dying… now, that's a whole different ball game.

And the worst thing is that Dean still has no clue how the fuck it even happened. How did he end up in a fucking hole in the ground with an unconscious, bloodied angel lying on the ground a few steps away.

One moment everything was fine – Castiel was kicking demon ass big time, and Dean was doing the same, and then everything went straight to hell. Dean can still see it – in fucking slow motion – Castiel on his knees, a demon that came out of nowhere standing behind him with a wicked looking blade in his hand. But that's not even the bad part.

Dean can deal with the memory of malicious glee on the demon's face, he can even take the sight of a red stain appearing and spreading on the white surface of Castiel's shirt. But what hurts, whet feels like a knife stuck inside his chest, is the memory of the angel's face.

Dean can recall it with perfect clarity – the shock in Castiel's eyes as he looked down at the rapidly spreading bloodstain on his shirt, slow rise of the angel's head, and then fear. Fear, resignation, and regret in Castiel's eyes as he looked straight into Dean's eyes, and Dean knows what that look meant. It was fucking _goodbye_.

The world came to an abrupt halt, and for a fraction of a moment nothing existed but him and Castiel, and it was Sam dying all over again – shock and disbelief, and pain underneath. The kind that tears pieces of your soul, leaving holes and scars that nothing can heal.

Then Castiel held out his hand, and Dean suddenly found himself outside the half-ruined mansion he was in only moments ago, and then it happened. An explosion of blazing, white light that knocked Dean down on his knees, blinding him for a moment, followed by a sound similar to a bomb going off, then… _nothing_. Only silence.

The sight that greeted Dean when his vision cleared had the words death and destruction written all over it. The old mansion had caved in on itself, dust creating a gray curtain over the debris, pieces of plaster and bricks scattered all over, and somewhere inside, was Castiel.

Something snapped inside his mind, clearing it of everything but a single thought – find Castiel. Save him. It took him a whole eternity, but, somehow, he'd managed to crawl inside, thankful that whatever the damn bastard did, didn't bring the whole mansion down. Once inside, Dean ignored the beams that were hanging from what was left of the ceiling, and the walls that looked like they were about to collapse if Dean so much as breathed in their direction. He walked, and crawled, and dug his way until he suddenly found himself in front of a hole that was once a staircase that led to the mansion's basement. How he'd managed to find his way down without breaking his neck, Dean will never know, but when his feet finally touched the solid ground, all stopped being important save the still figure lying on the ground a couple of feet away.

It all happened probably an hour ago, and Dean has done what he could for Castiel, but even though the angel had stopped bleeding, Dean knows that it doesn't really matter. It's not the vessel that's the problem, it's the angel inside, and Dean refuses to even consider that small voice inside his mind that suggests that maybe there is no angel inside anymore.

Closing his eyes, Dean leans his head on the damp wall. This is fucking unfair. After everything they've been through, it can't end like this. Not with Castiel dying in a fucking basement. It simply can't. And where the fuck is Uriel? Where are the other angels? Why isn't anyone coming to help them, to help one of their own?

_Maybe because it's already over, it's already over and you're stuck with an empty, dying shell, and Castiel is…_

"No!" Dean growls, his fist connecting with the wall, and it hurts like hell, but it's nothing compared to the real pain that is clawing at his heart every time his eyes drift to where Castiel is lying. He looks so small without his trench coat, and the sight of Dean's shirt wrapped around Castiel's torso only adds insult to injury. An angel shouldn't bleed, shouldn't hurt. Especially this angel.

Dean is angry. _Murderously angry_. At himself, at the whole fucking world, wanting to do something – anything – to make this all right again, anything that would fix this damn mess, fix Castiel, 'cause it's wrong. Castiel is an angel, and Dean had seen what he can do, and someone as powerful as Castiel can't die like this.

No, that's not right, Castiel can't die period. Not now, not ever. But that's always been the problem in Dean's life, everyone he'd ever wanted to keep by his side, or at least alive, always ended up dead. And it's not like there were that many people in his life that _really _mattered. Is it really greedy of him to want to hold onto the only one who stands between him and insanity? Even if he doesn't deserve him? But why keep on punishing him through others, why not simply strike him down, and leave _him_ to rot in the ground for good this time?

A soft, barely audible groan suddenly breaks the silence, and Dean's heart freezes in his chest. Slowly, afraid that if he moves too fast, the angel will disappear or this whole damn place will cave in on them, Dean crosses the space that separates him from the angel, falling on his knees beside Castiel.

"Cas?" Dean whispers in a timid voice, leaning closer to the angel's face.

Castiel's eyelashes flutter and another groan falls from his lips. Dean feels like he could fly on the sheer relief alone.

"Cas," Dean repeats, brushing the angel's hair from his forehead with trembling fingers. "It's okay, everything will be okay now."

Castiel's face contorts into a pained grimace, and Dean feels an answering jolt of pain inside his chest. "Dean," Castiel gasps, opening his eyes, and Dean's heart skips a beat at the almost wild look in them. "Where… where are we?"

"In the basement of what was left of the mansion," Dean says, frowning. "What did you do? You almost brought down the whole damn thing on your head."

"Dean," Castiel says urgently, grabbing Dean by his wrist, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light in the dim light of the basement. "You need to leave, now."

Dean frowns, not sure if he heard the angel right. "Cas, I'm not going anywhere," he says, trying to keep his voice calm, but it's hard since Castiel has his hand in a death grip. Touching the angel's forehead, he swallows. Castiel is literally burning with fever. "And you need to calm down and relax. I'm sure Uriel will find us soon."

"No!" Castiel actually growls, and tightens his grip on Dean's wrist, using it as leverage to pull himself into a sitting position. "You have to leave. Demons could return and I cannot… I am too weak to protect you."

Dean blinks, torn between feelings of annoyance and tenderness at Castiel's display of concern. Annoyance wins when another pained grimace twists the angel's features, and a strong tremor shakes his body. "Damn it, Cas," Dean says, pushing Castiel into a lying position again. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You're seriously injured, and here you are, acting like a damn idiot. Now lie down and stay down, or I swear to God, I will tie you there."

Castiel stays silent, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths, but he still keeps his fingers wrapped around Dean's wrist.

"Dean, _please,_" Castiel says when his breathing calms somewhat, and Dean clenches his jaw together at the pleading look in those blue eyes. At the word please. This is the first time he's heard the angel say it. Outside his dreams, that is. But in his dreams, that word had never meant goodbye. "I believe I have taken care of the demons that were trying to perform the ritual, but it is still not safe. You need to leave."

"And what about you?" Dean forces through clenched teeth. His momentary relief is nothing but a memory, and he has no fucking clue what to do now. How to help Castiel. How to stop the pain the angel is feeling. This is so out of his league, he can't even say something comforting; some of those empty phrases that people say all the time. The only thing that comes to his mind is to beg, to beg the angel to stay with him. Not to die. "If I leave, and they come, what happens to you Cas?"

Small, sad smile stretches Castiel's lips, but it quickly distorts into another grimace of pain. "It is already too late for me," he wheezes, and Dean feels like some giant, invisible hand is squeezing his chest, and he can't breathe. "And I would rather if you do not witness me dying."

"No," Dean says resolutely, as if he has any say in this. As if he's stubborn enough, or persistent enough, or simply repeats the word no enough of times, the Universe, God, or whoever holds Castiel's life in their hands will listen and obey. "No one is dying today, Cas. Not me, and sure as hell not you."

"Dean…"

"I said no," Dean snaps. Why can't the bastard stop? Why can't he just shut up and listen to what Dean has to say just one fucking time? "You're an angel, Cas. You can't… I've seen what you can do. You went to Hell and dragged my sorry ass out. This? This is nothing, so stop with this doom and gloom act, or I'll be forced to kick your ass, and right now, I can do it."

Castiel stays silent, the look in his eyes so fucking tender and full of warmth, and all Dean wants is to shut his eyes, 'cause even that look says goodbye. "There are weapons that are lethal to my kind," Castiel says finally, and his voice is weak and resigned now. "The blade that did this to me is one of them."

"No," Dean says, but this time there's no strength of conviction behind that word, just desolation. "Uriel will come and he'll fix you, and you'll be your stubborn, annoying self again."

"Dean, I am sorry, but this is out of both our hands," Castiel says firmly, tightening his jaw when another tremor shakes his body. "My life is in my Father's hands, and it is His will that will be done."

"Well, fuck your God, Cas," Dean spits bitterly, ignoring widening of Castiel's eyes. The angel's calm acceptance makes him want to shake him hard, or scream in helpless anger. "You've done everything you were supposed to do, and look where it got you. If this is God's will, then I don't fucking care if Lucifer walks free, 'cause this, Cas? It sucks."

Castiel's features harden instantly, and it amazes Dean how stern the angel can look like even now. "You must not do this, Dean," Castiel's words carry the hint of steel and sadness in equal measure. "You cannot go back to not having faith."

Dean shakes his head and closes his eyes. Having faith. And yeah, Dean now knows what it means; it's just that his faith has nothing to do with God, but one of his angels. One that happens to be dying in front of him.

"Let's make a deal, Cas," Dean says, opening his eyes. "Your God keeps you alive, and I'll become the biggest believer there is. Hell, I could even become a priest."

Castiel blinks, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "God does not make deals, and besides, you would be a very poor servant of the Lord, Dean," Castiel whispers.

Dean grins, his biggest, most cheeky grin, even though he knows that, with the exception of Sam and maybe Bobby, Castiel is the only one who can see right through it. "Maybe, but I'd sure as hell be the most handsome one."

Castiel smiles, but then another tremor passes through his body, and this time the angel releases a small, pained whimper that goes straight through Dean's body, settling into the pit of his stomach like a cold, leaden weight of helplessness and dread.

They stay silent for a few moments, and when Castiel's fingers finally fall from Dean's wrist, Dean's body grows cold. It hurts to look at Castiel in this state – weak, bloodied and pale. He looks so fragile, so human, and he needs help, but Dean can't offer any. Can't do a fucking thing but watch the angel fade away. And he doesn't want to. He doesn't think he has it in him. Maybe Castiel is right, and he should go, just climb out of this damn hole, and not look back. But then Castiel arches off the floor, his face twisting with pain, and Dean feels ashamed of his thoughts.

"Cas," Dean says, the words falling from his lips without his conscious decision. "You know what we haven't done in a long time?"

Castiel just looks at him, and Dean smiles reassuringly, his mind and body working on autopilot as he shifts so he could sit with his back leaning on the wall, carefully placing Castiel's head into his lap. "We haven't played our game. And we deserve a break; all we've done lately is kick demon ass."

"Dean…"

Dean ignores Castiel's soft, worried whisper, swallowing a hysterical laughter at how, even now; the damn bastard is worried about him. "I'll even let you ask first."

Castiel studies him carefully, and Dean returns his look, still keeping his grin firmly in place. He feels numb now, all his fear, bitterness and anger pushed to the back of his mind to be dealt with later. Because if he deals with them now, he'll break, and he can't do that to the angel. He owes him at least that much.

"Truth or dare, Dean?" Castiel asks finally, the firm tone of his voice contradicting the paleness of his face, and the way he keeps his hands clenched into fists by his sides as tiny tremors pass through his body.

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "I could say truth, but both of us know what I'll pick in the end."

Castiel sighs. "If I dare you to leave, would you listen?"

"There's no way in hell I'm leaving without you, so you'd better think of something else." Dean says flatly.

"Then talk to me," Castiel whispers, his eyes fixed on Dean's face, and the look in them – so fucking open and trusting – breaks a piece of Dean's heart.

Dean clears his throat. "Talk," he says hoarsely. "About what?"

"Whatever you choose to say is fine by me, Dean," Castiel breathes tiredly, closing his eyes. "I do not want to fall asleep just yet."

"Okay, I can do that," Dean says carefully, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. A cold shiver shakes his whole body so he reaches out and takes Castiel's hand in his, twining their fingers together, seeking the angel's warmth. Castiel stays still; he doesn't try to pull his hand out of Dean's grip. But he also keeps his eyes closed, and that's unacceptable. He looks… and, damn it, but even thinking the word dead hurts more than Dean is ready to admit, accept, and least of all, feel. "But, Cas, seriously man, you'll need to open your eyes, so I'd know I'm not talking to myself."

"Cas?" Dean says, his voice cracking on the edges when Castiel doesn't react. "Cas? Castiel?!" Dean repeats in a panicked tone, his heart stopping dead in his chest when the angel stays unresponsive.

_No. Please, no…_

You never know what you have until you've lost it.

That old cliché pops into Dean's head uninvited, and Dean wants to scream and laugh at the same time, and for a moment, he knows how insanity feels like. But then the pain hits, and Dean drowns in it.

Missed chances and words left unsaid – the stuff regret and sorrow are made of – taunt him from the dark corners of his mind, and Dean sees everything so clear now. What he should have said, what he should've done. But it's too late now, it's too fucking late, and he's alone yet again. And it wasn't supposed to end like this. Not like _this_.

"Cas, please… don't do this to me, open your eyes, please," Dean whispers brokenly, leaning closer to Castiel's face, but nothing happens. Castiel stays still. His eyes stay closed. And in the span between two breaths, Dean's heart breaks.

He's crying now, and his chest feels like an open wound, but it doesn't matter. And really, nothing matters now, the apocalypse and the fate of the whole fucking world. As far as Dean is concerned, the world can go fuck itself. He quits. No more battles, no more family business. No more family, 'cause what's left of it is doing his best to destroy his soul in the name of greater good, and Dean can't save him. Sam is the only one who can do that, he knows it now. _Has known_ it for a while. And for the first time in his life, he can live with that. Only, he isn't really interested in living anymore. He's tired, hollow, and broken, and just wants to sleep.

Dean smiles softly, planting a light kiss on Castiel's forehead. Carefully, he moves the angel's head from his lap. With one last long look at Castiel's face, he lies down on the ground next to him, wrapping his arms around Castiel.

Dean can feel slow rise and fall of Castiel's chest, but it doesn't mean anything. And it also means everything, but Dean is only a man, and he can't do anything to help the angel now. He'd like to pray, but he doesn't know how, and besides, the only thought he's even capable of forming comes in the shape of a name. And, for the first time in what feels like forever, it's not his brother's.

Tightening his hold on Castiel, Dean closes his eyes, and waits. A demon or an angel, or this whole damn place caving in and burying both of them, he's not sure, nor does he particularly care. All he cares about is that weak, but still steady breathing of the body pressed against his.

It's God's will, Castiel had said. Dean never thought much of Him, never had the reason to, but he still has a small hope left that everything will be okay. Because he's only a man, and hope, even though a bitch, is also a persistent bitch that really dies the last.

He doesn't know how much time has passed since Castiel lost consciousness, but suddenly he feels that familiar soft breeze beside him, and when he opens his eyes, Dean wants to laugh and cry at the same time, but all he does is whisper the newcomers name. "Uriel."


	5. Chapter 5

The last time the world is a small step away from Hell, and no games are played.

It's been three weeks since Castiel had almost died. Two weeks and three days since Uriel had dropped by – visibly annoyed and irate – to inform him that Castiel is recuperating. A week and a day since Uriel had stopped by again, this time looking weary and somber to say that another, sixty fifth, Seal had been broken. Three days since Dean had called his brother just to say three words to him. A day since Sam had done the same.

Apparently a helluva lot can happen in just three weeks, but Dean still waits. There's still that one thing that needs to happen, and Dean is starting to learn that patience can have its benefits.

When he allows himself to think of that day three weeks ago, Dean doesn't think of the blood on Castiel's chest, nor the look of pain on his face. And he as sure as hell doesn't think about how it felt when he'd thought that Castiel was dead. Those memories are inside his head, in their very own folder marked 'Hell, take two', and as far as he's concerned, they are to be avoided at all cost. Instead, he thinks how it felt when Uriel had appeared. It was a strange feeling. And he'd felt it just once before, when Castiel had kissed him in that church a couple of lifetimes ago, and that is how he knows what it was.

Forgiveness and peace and_ love_.

God forgave him. Dean doesn't know why, especially considering that he wants to steal one of his angels and never give him back, but he did. Castiel was dying, but he stayed alive. For the first time, Dean was allowed to keep a loved one. Without deals or soul-selling.

_A loved one._

That thought still makes him feel like a fucking kid in love for the first time – butterflies in the pit of his stomach, sweaty palms, daydreaming… the whole nine yards. All that's left for him to do is start carving _Dean loves Cas_ on tree trunks.

But yeah, he is really in love for the first time; that whole bigger than life, once in a lifetime, fate and destiny kind of crap. It just figures that him falling in love for the first time would be with an angel in the middle of a war between Heaven and Hell.

Dean Winchester is in love with an angel. Ironic doesn't even begin to cover it. The strangest part though, is that Dean doesn't care about it. Doesn't care about potential blasphemy, or how words _tragedy in the making_ are written all over it. Hell, he doesn't even care about the whole male-vessel part. All he cares about is that he loves Castiel. And the angel… well, Dean can't be sure, especially with that whole no-emotions crap he'd been feed by a couple of angels and an ex-angel, but there is always something _more _in Castiel's eyes when he looks at him. Something that lies hidden beneath tenderness, compassion, and annoyance that has somehow become Castiel's usual look when directed at him. But Dean can't know it for sure, not until he sees the angel.

Three weeks ago, Dean would be freaked out of his mind by the newest development in his love life. The man he was three weeks ago, would now be in bed with some willing, female-shaped body, doing his best to fuck Castiel out of his system. Alcohol would probably come in play as well. And yeah, it still happens sometimes. When he can't sleep, when he remembers how fucked-up the world really is, he still wants to do all of that. Because, his recently discovered faith aside, it's still hard for him to imagine anything resembling happily ever after for him and Castiel. Even if the world doesn't end up in Hell. But then all he has to do is remember how empty he felt when he thought that Castiel was gone and was never coming back. It felt like his soul was missing, and really, what's the point in living if your soul is dead?

So, Dean waits. Every day, for the last three weeks, he waits for Castiel to show up. He has no clue what he'll do and say when the angel finally comes to see him – and he will, Dean is sure of it – but he doesn't plan on fucking up this second chance he has been given.

And when he finally hears that familiar sound that makes him think of wings, Dean knows that his waiting hours are over.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says calmly, and the sound of his voice is the best music Dean had ever heard. Metallica included.

Dean slowly gets up off the bed, eyes glued to Castiel's face. He looks… normal. Maybe paler, and there are dark circles under his eyes, but there's nothing on his face that speaks of death and blood and pain like it did the last time.

"You're alive," Dean blurts out, his mouth just a tad quicker than his mind, and Dean wants to kick himself. "I mean… I knew you were, Uriel said it, but… I didn't see you before, and now you're here. Alive." Dean finishes lamely, wishing for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him, 'cause this? Awkward as hell.

"I feel well now, Dean," Castiel says slowly, tilting his head slightly, and there it is, that I-want-to-crawl-inside-your-head look, and Dean stands frozen under that piercing gaze, a part of him terrified and ashamed, wanting to run away and hide, but a larger part of him wants Castiel to pick out the words _I love you_ out of the mess that is his mind. But then Castiel blinks and his face settles into his usual stoic expression and Dean inwardly rolls his eyes. Of course it's not going to be that easy. When was anything in his life easy?

"So," Dean clears his throat, not really sure what to say, or even where to look. And why the fuck is he even acting this way? He's sure as hell not a blushing virgin, or some innocent, clueless kid. But then he throws a look at Castiel's face, and feels an ache inside his chest at the sight of it. So yeah, maybe he's as far from innocent as one person can get, but this whole situation is new to him, and it's not like there's a 'Dummies' Guide to Wooing an Angel' out there that he could read. "Uriel said that we're down to the last Seal."

Those words are out of his mouth before Dean has a chance to actually think about them – again – and he winces inwardly.

_Well done, Dean, there's nothing that sets a romantic mood quite like talk of the apocalypse._

A grave expression settles across Castiel's features. "That is correct," Castiel sighs. "But the last Seal is also the most difficult one to break, and we will not allow it to break, Dean. When the time comes, Lilith will be stopped and this world will once again be safe."

There is a note of deadly determination in Castiel's voice and he looks fierce all of a sudden. And for one moment, Dean can actually see a faint golden glow accentuating an outline of invisible wings. Castiel looks… well, magnificent and scary as hell. Dean's breath is currently stuck in his throat while his heart does it's best to punch a hole through his chest, but it's not out of fear. Dean had stopped being afraid of Castiel a long time ago. But his stomach feels funny and his knees are weak, and the words _mine_ and_ angel_ bounce off the walls inside his mind, and Dean thinks he'll choke on the sheer intensity of the love that he feels for Castiel.

But then Castiel takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and he's Cas again. Looking like nothing more than a regular guy dressed in ridiculous trench coat with his tie hanging askew and his hair sticking in all directions, and Dean loves him all the more for that.

"Cas," Dean says, taking a deep, calming breath. "Can we forget about the apocalypse for a day? I mean, I know it's important, but I need a day off. _You_ need a day off."

"Angels do not take days off, Dean," Castiel says, frowning. "We are what we are."

Dean rolls his eyes, exasperated. "Come on, Cas," he says, grinning. "Just one day."

"Dean," Castiel sighs. "It is…"

"I dare you," Dean says firmly, his eyes narrowing in a challenge.

Castiel blinks. "You _dare _me?" He repeats, disbelief clear in his voice.

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, it's our thing. Just like Uriel and I have a mutual disgust thing going on."

"What if I wish to quit playing that game?" Castiel asks, his face growing serious, and Dean suddenly feels a lump of worry in his throat.

"You played with me before," Dean says, his voice hardening. "Why stop now?"

"Because I never really played your game, Dean," Castiel says simply, and Dean feels stupid and disappointed all of a sudden. "I merely wanted you to be honest with me, but you never were."

Dean bows his head. "Well, that kinda fucks up my plans," he says, trying to keep his voice light, but he can't quite manage to keep disappointment out of it.

"If you want something from me, Dean," Castiel says softly, taking a step closer to Dean, "you could always try asking."

Dean rolls his eyes, annoyed. "Yeah, I could ask you about the last Seal or how the fuck are we going to stop that bitch from fucking up the whole damn world," Dean forces through clenched teeth. He feels annoyed and angry, even betrayed at Castiel's admission, and he can't stop himself from lashing out, even as he feels that second chance slipping from his fingers. "And I'm sick and tired of hearing about it."

"And what is it that you want to know?" Castiel asks.

"I don't know," Dean snaps. "Anything… _everything_. What you're doing when you're not smiting demons… have you tried eating pie or drinking beer… what do you have against wearing jeans… that kind of stuff."

"Why?"

Dean releases a deep breath and shakes his head in surrender. "Forget it," he says and turns his back on Castiel. He can't do this. Hell, he doesn't even know what this is supposed to be. A surreal version of a first date? A friendly chat? Are they even friends? "Just forget I said anything."

A strange, frustrated cross between a sigh and a growl comes from behind him, and then there are hands, strong, unyielding hands on his shoulders, turning him around. And before Dean has a chance to even try to fight against the hold the angel has on him, he is looking at Castiel's face, blue eyes blazing.

"And again you are doing it," Castiel whispers, his face holding nothing of its usual calm. "Speaking truth cannot be that complicated or frightening, Dean. It can be even liberating, so why cannot you simply say what is it that you want from me."

Dean blinks, swallowing, becoming aware of how close they are standing now, of their bodies touching from shoulder to groin, of Castiel's fingers digging holes in his shoulders.

Dean's brain short-circuits, his nerve endings bombarding it with too much information about _warm_ and _close _and _firm _and _Castiel_. "You want me to say what I want from you, Cas?" Dean asks, his lips curving into a shark-like grin. "I have a better idea. I think I'll show it to you."

And with that, Dean grabs Castiel's head and pulls it close, close enough to kiss. The last thing Dean sees before his lips touch Castiel's is the widening of Castiel's eyes, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter that Castiel's body freezes against his, nor does it matter that the angel keeps his lips firmly pressed together. Right now, the only thing that matters is seizing this moment. If this is the first, and also the last time he'll get to kiss Castiel, well, then Dean plans to make the most of it. He keeps his hands firmly on the back of Castiel's head, but he knows that if the angel wanted to pull away, there was nothing Dean could do about it, so it must mean something. It has to mean something that Castiel is allowing himself to be kissed, even though he's not kissing back. But Dean is nothing if not stubborn, and he knows how to kiss. He licks and sucks, teasing Castiel's lips with his tongue and teeth, and finally, when he thinks of pulling away, when air becomes a necessity, Castiel releases a choked sound that could be both a whimper and a moan, and opens his mouth under Dean's lips.

Castiel tastes normal – wet and warm and sweet, but it's clear that this is his first kiss. It's messy and clumsy, their teeth clashing, their tongues colliding, and Dean really needs air now, but he doesn't want to stop the kiss. He never wants to stop kissing Castiel. He has no clue what made the angel kiss him back, but he's afraid that when he pulls away, that would be it. So he keeps on kissing Castiel, because there's this feeling of happiness and warmth spreading through his entire being, and this feels so fucking right, and who cares about breathing…

And then the kiss ends. Just as suddenly as he began kissing him back, Castiel pulls away, but still keeps his hands on Dean's shoulders.

Dean takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling cold. The look on Castiel's face is unreadable, nothing except his slightly swollen lips giving away what has just happened between them.

"Come on, Cas," Dean says finally, his voice both a plea and a demand when Castiel just keeps on staring at him. Jumping Castiel wasn't exactly in Dean's plans, and now, seeing that almost hard look on the angel's face, Dean really wants to kick himself for not thinking things through. But it's too late for regret, and he really doesn't want to make up some story that this kiss was somehow a part of the whole saving the world deal. Besides, he wanted to know what his chances with Castiel are. And whether he'll like the truth or not, he needs to know. "Do something. Say something. Kiss me or kill me, but don't…"

Dean never gets to finish his sentence; the rest of it gets swallowed by Castiel's mouth. And, oh boy, this kiss is nothing like the previous one. Castiel literally devours his mouth, and there's nothing smooth or sensual about it. It's rough and filled with need, and even though Castiel still doesn't quite get the mechanics of it, his enthusiasm makes up for it, his tongue sliding down Dean's, exploring his mouth with vigor. Castiel kisses him as if he were living in a desert his entire existence and Dean is his oasis.

Dean breaks the kiss, panting, and starts tugging at Castiel's clothes, frantic and desperate, still afraid that this isn't happening. That Castiel will suddenly come to his senses and disappear out of this room, and he can do it. He can vanish into thin air in the blink of an eye; Dean knows this better than anyone. But Castiel doesn't show any signs of wanting to leave, in fact he allows Dean to take his coat off, to maneuver the both of them towards the bed and then push Castiel down on it, just looking at Dean with wide eyes, eyes that are currently glazed with desire, but beneath it is a look of innocence and trust, and Dean suddenly feels shame and guilt tear through the veil of lust and need that is wrapped around his mind.

Dropping down on his knees in front of the bed, Dean swallows against the dryness of his throat. "Cas, is this…" he whispers, and there's a voice in his head that screams at him to shut the fuck up and just take what's being offered to him before someone or something stops this from happening, but Dean ignores that voice, 'cause no matter how much he wants the angel – hell, his body is literally shaking with desire to finish what they've started – he's not about to drag the angel down to the gutter with him. "If we do this, are you going to get punished?"

Castiel smiles. A wide, warm, and knowing smile that stops Dean's heart for one glorious moment. "Dean," Castiel whispers, sitting up and taking Dean's head between his palms. "There are many roads that lead to Perdition, but love is not one of them."

The world comes to a halt then, and reality crashes in on itself, and nothing exists anymore, only this motel room and the two of them in it.

"Love?" Dean manages to choke out. This doesn't feel right, and he's suddenly afraid that this is some sick and twisted dream, that he'll suddenly wake up in Hell, looking at Alastair's smirking face, 'cause this? Un-fucking-believable. Angels don't fall in love with humans. And they certainly don't fall in love with humans who answer to the name of Dean Winchester. "But… how? Why? Why _me_?"

Castiel's face grows serious. "You deserve all the love this world, as well as the next, can offer, Dean Winchester," Castiel says solemnly, his words sounding like a vow, but then a smile stretches his lips upwards, and Dean's heart swells in his chest. "But I love you because I can. And because I have no choice. You are a very lovable person, Dean."

Dean blinks at Castiel's almost teasing words, but then he smiles. "God, I love you," Dean says – amazed and shocked and so fucking happy he thinks his chest will explode – climbing up on the bed and straddling Castiel. "I love you so fucking much."

What follows after is making love – slow and deliberate shedding of clothes, teasing slide of flesh against flesh, tangle of lips and limbs.

Dean kisses and touches every part of Castiel's skin, leaving tiny marks of possession with his fingers and teeth, even though he knows they won't last. His hands map the contours of the angel's body, and Castiel writhes and bucks beneath him, choked moans falling from his lips, his head thrown back, and it's the most beautiful sight Dean has ever seen.

When Castiel touches him, his touch is tender, almost reverent, like Dean is made of glass, like he's something precious that deserves to be worshiped, and Castiel does. With his hands, and his lips, he traces every patch of Dean's naked skin, leaving Dean shuddering and gasping for more.

Every kiss and every softly breathed declaration of love that spills from Castiel's lips between kisses unravels Dean, and he stops being the elder son of John Winchester and brother of Sam Winchester. Even the guy who spent forty years in Hell disappears. Only Dean remains. Only a man who wants to live and breathe and be happy, and it feels so fucking good.

When he's finally inside Castiel, Castiel's body arching off the bed and meeting his thrusts, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Dean's, Dean thinks he knows how Heaven looks like. And when Castiel comes, whispering Dean's name, Dean follows immediately after, his orgasm shattering him and rebuilding into someone new. He's sure that this is the only Heaven he'll ever need.

Later, when both of them are sated and spent, their bodies still entwined and Dean's head pillowed on Castiel's chest, Dean realizes something and shakes his head in amazement.

"You know, Cas," Dean says, lifting his head off Castiel's chest. "If I already didn't know about that whole apocalypse thing, I'd be sure of it now."

"I cannot say that I understand the meaning behind your words, Dean," Castiel says, frowning.

Dean smiles and kisses Castiel's chest. "Well, Cas," another kiss. "I'm happy," and another, and this time Castiel's eyelashes flutter and Dean can feel the angel holding his breath under his lips. He grins victoriously. "And that's a sure sign of the apocalypse."

Castiel's frow deepens, and before Dean is aware of him moving, Castiel has him pinned to the bed with his body, holding Dean's wrists with his hands. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, Dean," Castiel whispers into Dean's ear, and Dean has real problems with concentrating on what the angel is saying, the weight of Castiel's body on his distracting as hell. Not to mention the low rumble of Castiel's voice in his ear. "You are worthy of happiness and love. Accept it, once and for all, or I will make you accept it."

Dean swallows a needy whimper when Castiel lifts his head from his ear. "I'm glad you think so, Cas, 'cause there's this one thing I need to be happy, and you can help me with it."

"What is it?" Castiel asks, tilting his head.

"You," Dean whispers, keeping his eyes fixed on Castiel's. "And that means that you're stuck with me. No vanishing acts or nearly dying."

Castiel blinks, a look of naked longing and love passing across his features. "Then we are stuck together, Dean," he whispers, releasing one of Dean's wrists so he could put his hand on the handprint seared into Dean's flesh. _His_ handprint. "For as long as you need me."

"Forever sounds good to me," Dean says, grinning.

"Then forever it is," Castiel says and lowers his lips on Dean's, and Dean thinks that maybe Castiel was right all along. Truth can be liberating. But that doesn't mean that he's ready to stop daring the angel. After all, he still wants to see Castiel's wings for real.

**THE END**


End file.
